Thursday, September 8, 2011

What is Wrong With People? I'm Gonna Tell You.

Do you ever wonder what is wrong with people?  Sure you do!  If you don't, you're either one of them or you're one of those people who always tries to appear kind, warm and fuzzy and I hate those people, too.  Well, I'm gonna tell you what is wrong with people.  Sit down and hold on tight.  

Experts. Yep, experts. People who write books about raising children.  They are "what's wrong with people."  Them, and the people who read the books and follow the guidance set forth therein.  Yep, get rid of the "experts" and the sheep... I mean followers... and the world will right itself again. Well, at least the U.S. would right itself, but there would still be those issues in the middle east and starvation in third world countries, but I'm not solving those problems today. And, frankly, the entire U.S. wouldn't be righted.  We would still have to deal with politicians and people selling things over the phone but calling themselves "market researchers", but those are other posts for other days.  Anyway...

Have you ever read one of those parenting books or researched how to fix your kid?  Sure you have.  If you haven't, you're one of those experts or one of those people who think your kids are perfect.  If the latter, I've got news for you.  They're not; they're annoying and so are you.  

Let's look at some of the sage advice from these so-called experts.  

I've got a biter.  I've researched solutions.  Some of the sage advice has included handing the child an apple when he bites his brother and telling the kid, "We don't bite people. We bite food.  Here is an apple."  Sounds great, doesn't it?  Well, not really, but for our situation let's say it does.  So I try it.  Does it stop the biting?  No, of course not.  My kid now bites someone, or the dogs, and then asks for an apple. If you wanted me to stop writing this ranting blog, would you hand me a glass of wine and tell me, "We don't rant. We drink to cover our rage."  No!  Would I quit writing?  No, of course not.  I would continue to write and then ask for a glass of wine... like I always do.  

One of my very favorites is about how to deal with a "strong-willed child."  That's what we have to call them now days so as not to hurt their self-esteem.  I say we call it like it is.  It would be "How to handle Satan."  The "experts" suggest spending 10 minutes playing with your child one-on-one, twice per day for 7 days.  During this 10 minutes, you must let your child direct the play, you should mirror the child's actions and not give any instruction or ask any questions.  And, the biggee - you may not correct your child during this 10 minutes.  Have you ever spent 10 minutes alone with Satan, mirroring his actions and not asking any questions?  It's really quite interesting.  During that time we hit the dogs, banged on the window with a hammer, jumped off the back of the sofa and tried to disassemble the CD player which was playing relaxing music until said disassembling began.  What is the point of this exercise you may ask.  If your Satan, I mean strong-willed child, thinks that you are interested in what he does, he won't feel controlled and will begin to take your direction more easily.  HA!  What my Satan learned is that for 20 minutes per day, he gets to wreak havoc on our home without repercussions. 

There's always the "time away" solution in which the child gets to sit in a comfy chair in the same room as you and practice meditation and deep breathing. Yeah, that works, too - especially with a 2 year old.  I have found that it is I who likes sitting in the comfy chair in a room far, far away with a glass of wine or bottle of vodka (it depends on my mood). It's a better solution.  I don't have to see the mischief and even if I do, with the right wine/vodka I don't really care. 

So, back to the original question.  What is wrong with people?  The problem is that we follow the sage advice of these so-called experts.  I don't think these experts have children.  If they did, they would know these things don't work.  Maybe they do know and they don't care because they are making money from the sales of the books.  If that's true it doesn't change anything; they are still the source of the problem.  Well, them and the lemmings who follow them.  We wind up raising entitled demons who don't understand authority, can't take "no" for an answer and have psyches so fragile that the slightest criticism sends them into a downward spiral of drugs, alcohol and depression.   Meanwhile, the rest of us get sideways glances when we are screaming like banshees when Satan tries to rip all the pages out of the books at Barnes & Noble during story time or we grab Satan's hand away when he pushes down another kid and tries to steal the fruit chewies.  By the way, what is a banshee and does it really scream? 

So, go ahead and give me "the look," shake your head in shame and pray for my soul if you must but I'm not going to be one of "those people."  I'm not going to join the ranks and be "the problem."  And, lest you think I think otherwise, I know I am not the solution either.  Don't forget, I'm the mother of Satan and Lucifer.  

I miss my days at the office.  I didn't have to worry about "time away."  I called it vacation.  I didn't have to deal with biting.  (Maybe a little back stabbing but no physical violence.)  I didn't have to wipe butts and noses all day long and smile into the face of the woman giving me "the look" because Satan just spit his ham sandwich across the restaurant and I threatened to beat him with said sandwich if he did it again.  I miss wearing heels. I can't believe my life!

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

The Wet Spot

So last night I slept in the wet spot.  Not the good kind.  Although, is there really such a thing as a "good kind of wet spot?" 

You see, earlier in the day my son, Satan as I like to call him, enjoyed pouring water into my bed.  He realized that if he moved around it made the water flow in different directions.  While this is certainly a good experiment in physics (I think it's physics. I never took physics. In fact, I suck at math and science so it could be geometry or calculus or something else but I'll just go with physics because it sounds good.  Anyway, I digress (see Profile regarding digression)). 

This occurred, of course, while I was in the bathroom.  Isn't that always what happens?  Not the pouring the water part, but all mischief in general.  You take one minute to pee and the kids burn down the house or neuter the dogs.

I did not have an opportunity to change the sheets or dry the mattress because I have two 2 year olds.  I thought I'd get to it before I went to bed.  My husband went to sleep before I did so I never got to it at all. 

In the morning as my darling husband was leaving for work he said, "By the way, what's with the beach towel you were sleeping on?"   UGH.  I can't believe my life.

Monday, August 29, 2011

Terrorism at Home

Let me start by referring you to my profile.  If you are easily offended and take life very seriously, my blog may not be for you.  That being said, let me proceed...

I discovered a terrorist cell in my home last night. I had been feeling a little ill earlier in the evening and had sucked down some Nyquil.  At approximately 0200 hours (that's 2:00 am for you non-military folk) I was awakened to the sound of a terrorist starting his attack on my peaceful sleep. 

I grabbed my glasses from the bed stand and ran down the hall.  With Navy Seal like precision, I silently opened the door to a room inhabited by the terrorists - namely my two two-year old sons (ages 25 months and 22 months; I call them Satan and Lucifer, but that's another story for another day.  Did you read my profile?  I told you I digress a lot.) 

The younger of the two was the aggressor.  I dropped to the ground and incapacitated him.  Mission successful!  I army crawled across the ground to leave the area.   Just as I reached the exit door someone farted and woke both members of the cell once again.  (Does that ever happen to real Navy Seals?  Has a fart ever ruined one of their plans?  Probably not a Seal, those guys are amazing freaks of nature, almost robots of precision.  Maybe the other military guys.  Someone has had to fart in combat at some time or other.  Anyway, I digress again.) 

So, where was I?  Oh yeah, someone farted and woke the terrorists.  I froze and camouflaged myself into the walls. I held my breath and moved not a muscle. (Someone had farted - I was glad to hold my breath.)  It seemed as though hours passed, while I stood motionless, waiting for the terrorists to fall back to sleep. (Actually it was probably only a minute or two but when your tipsy on Nyquil and groggy at 2 am, things feel a little different.) Once it seemed as though the coast was clear, I began my departure from the area to return to camp and get some shut eye. 

As I climbed back into my comfy bunk, my radio (aka baby monitor) starts to crackle and I heard the terrorists again.  This time it was the two of them, clearly plotting together against my husband and I.  Time for a new plan. This time, I left my glasses behind.  Silent incapacitation was clearly not an effective method.  As I ran down the hallway, I made a new plan of attack.  AHA, I've got it!  This time, I burst in to take the terrorists by surprise.  I returned to the fox hole of the younger and find it empty.  I spied into the other foxhole and saw the two terrorists attempting to disguise themselves by placing pillows on top of them.  Undeterred by their efforts at disguise, I lifted the pillow and grabbed the initial aggressor and assertively returned him to his own fox hole.  As I attempted to leave the area - this time with no efforts at hiding my departure - I heard the wimpers of the wrong terrorist.  Apparently in my Nyquil fog and without my glasses, I grabbed the wrong kid.  The other was giggling quietly from his brother's fox hole.  He would not be defeated - at least not this night. 

Oh well, let them sleep where they are.  I'm too tired to deal with it.  My Seal card has been revoked and I have been dishonorably discharged.  I can't believe my life.